by Dayton Ward
“We may have asked for too much too soon, my friend,” D’tran replied. “A noble effort, yes, but perhaps one we are not yet ready to achieve.”
Both diplomats turned at the sound of approaching footsteps as Constable Schiappacasse moved to stand before the dais. Her features were darkened by worry, and Jetanien could see the uncertainty in her eyes.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “I think you should consider implementing the first stage of our contingency plan.”
“Curfews?” Jetanien asked.
Schiappacasse nodded. “Just for the next night or two. I’d like to increase our security patrols, as well. By no means do I want this to be permanent—just until we can calm things down a bit. Based on some of the things we’ve been seeing the past few nights, along with what went on in here, it feels like people are looking for an excuse to fight. I’d like not to give them that.”
Turning to D’tran, Jetanien asked, “What are your thoughts on this?”
The aged Romulan sighed. “I don’t relish the notion of added restrictions and enforcements which might make us appear to be panicked ourselves. If anything, such action might serve only to solidify any resentment against us as the authorities of the colony. Any response we take needs to be measured, restrained, and explained to the public as thoroughly and honestly as possible.”
“We also can’t afford to seem indecisive,” Schiappacasse countered. “There’s still a significant number of the population who support the colony and what you’re trying to achieve here. They need to know we’re taking steps to protect them, as well.”
D’tran nodded. “Agreed.” To Jetanien, he said, “Very well, my friend.”
“Constable,” Jetanien said, “alert your security forces. I’ll prepare a statement for the colony, and we’ll broadcast it as soon as—”
A heavy thump resounded off the walls of the meeting hall, rattling windows as well as the arrangement of chairs occupying the chamber’s main floor. The overhead lighting blinked several times before returning to its normal, steady state, and Jetanien flinched, recalling the incident at the spaceport from several evenings ago.
“Oh no,” D’tran said, and when Jetanien looked to him he saw that his elderly friend’s lined face had gone white with shock.
“That was just outside!” Schiappacasse yelled, already turning and running for the door.
D’tran said, “No, it wasn’t, but it was close.” From somewhere beyond the building, sirens could now be heard blaring in the streets. Jetanien recognized the alarm as the one designated for citywide emergencies calling for the security force to begin employing crowd control procedures.
“Come,” Jetanien said, his voice fearful as he took his friend by the arm. “We need to see what’s happened.” After he assisted D’tran from the dais, both diplomats crossed the room toward the exit when the heavy door was flung open to reveal Lugok.
“Not this way,” the Klingon said, pointing past Jetanien toward the room’s opposite end. “Out the back, now!” He did not wait for a response as he pushed Jetanien and D’tran up the chamber’s main aisle.
“What happened?” Jetanien asked.
“A bomb,” the Klingon replied. “Just up the street. Two storefronts were destroyed just as the crowd left here. There are numerous casualties.” When D’tran paused in response to this report, Lugok reasserted his grip on the Romulan’s arm. “Keep moving!”
Jetanien was incredulous. “A bomb? Tonight? Of all nights?”
“It would seem that coincidence is unlikely,” D’tran said. “The meeting was a public event, after all, and scheduled several days ago. Plenty of time to orchestrate an act of insurrection.”
“You’re saying this was planned?” Jetanien asked, his beak clicking at an increasing rate in keeping with his elevated anxiety.
Lugok hissed, “Don’t be a fool, Jetanien. Someone wanted either to scare or to hurt anyone who might be viewed as being in support of making the colony work. I wouldn’t be surprised if that petaQ Kanjar intentionally disrupted the meeting in order to force an early end and get people into the streets amid confusion before the explosive was triggered.”
As they reached one of the building’s rear exits, Jetanien paused, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it. It’s one thing to start a brawl, or cause a work stoppage, or protest overzealous law enforcement, but this? Causing deliberate injury and perhaps death?”
“Anyone with such grievances possibly feels their complaints haven’t been heard,” Lugok said, opening the door and casting a furtive look into the street beyond. “You’re listening now, though, are you not?”
Running footsteps outside the door made Jetanien step back, and Lugok pushed forward, his fist raised and poised to strike. Then the door opened to reveal Constable Schiappacasse and one of her security officers, both with phasers drawn. Both officers looked worried, their concern only heightened by the constant wail of the alarm sirens permeating the outside air.
“Gentlemen,” Schiappacasse said, gesturing for them to follow her. “Come with me, please. We’re taking you to the Federation Consulate, as it’s the most secure location that we can get to quickly.”
The three diplomats followed on Schiappacasse’s heels as the constable guided them from the building and into the narrow alley separating it from the neighboring structure. Her companion guarded their rear as they moved, while the sounds of chaos filled the air. Sirens blared their warbling tones, which rang sharply off the storefronts, and people shouted either from the streets or the open windows of nearby buildings. Schiappacasse seemed to move with practiced ease through the side streets, avoiding exposure on the main thoroughfares. Light from what Jetanien took to be fire flickered against nearby walls, and acrid smoke from an unknown source assailed his nostrils. Shadowy figures sprinted along intersecting streets, though no one seemed to be taking any notice of anyone other than themselves.
As Schiappacasse led them around a corner at one intersection, Jetanien was startled to see a ground transport belonging to the colony’s security forces bearing down on them. Rather than stopping, the transport screamed past them on its way deeper into the city, and Jetanien offered silent thoughts for the safety of the officers inside the vehicle. After all, there was no way to know the severity of the situation into which they were traveling. Though security teams were the only persons allowed to carry weapons within the colony, that would not deter any would-be insurgents, particularly if they had greater numbers, which seemed likely.
“D’tran,” Jetanien said, looking to his friend, who was showing visible strain in the face of the prolonged exertion. “We’re almost there.” He gestured ahead of them, where the familiar entrance to the Federation Consulate beckoned. Jetanien was relieved to see that a detachment of six security officers stood outside the structure’s reinforced main doors. When one of them caught sight of Schiappacasse, he waved for her to bring her charges forward, and within a minute the group was inside the building’s relatively safe environs.
“Ambassador!” called Sergio Moreno, who looked as if he’d been waiting for Jetanien to return. “Thank goodness you made it back safely. Are you all right?”
Jetanien shook his head. “I’m not injured, but Senator D’tran needs rest.” Indicating his friend with a nod, he added, “Please tend to him.”
As Moreno saw to D’tran, Jetanien turned to Schiappacasse. “Constable, I’m in your debt.”
“Just part of the job, Ambassador,” Schiappacasse replied, holding her communicator in her hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to get an update on the situation.”
“Please keep me informed,” Jetanien said, and the security officer nodded as she stepped away, already talking to someone else via her communicator and leaving the Chelon alone. Looking around the lobby, he saw Lugok making his way toward the door.
“Lugok,” Jetanien called out, “where are you going?”
Pausing at the door, the Klingon turned and replied, “I must get back to
my own consulate. I need to apprise my superiors of this situation, and advise that they send us assistance.” He regarded Jetanien with a somber expression. “You should do the same, and so too should D’tran.”
“Reinforcements?” Jetanien asked. “Do you think the situation will deteriorate that far?”
“I do not know,” Lugok answered, “but my standing orders are to advise the High Council of any change in the status quo here, particularly if something occurs such as what we’re now witnessing.” Nodding toward the door, he added, “Face it, Jetanien, this may well be just the beginning of something far worse than what we’ve already seen.”
Walking to a nearby window, Jetanien reached up to part the heavy drape so that he might gaze out at the street beyond the consulate grounds. He was able to see fire from at least three locations elsewhere in the city. The sounds of people shouting were only just audible over the cry of alarm klaxons and the sirens of security force ground transports. A few people ran between buildings, and when he looked toward the courtyard at the center of the city he saw a gathering of colonists, though from this distance he could not discern what they might be doing. Were they planning more disruption, or were they among those who might now need the assistance of the constabulary and anyone else not interested in rousing unrest and violence?
“I’m not ready to give up on this, Lugok,” Jetanien said after a moment. “Not after everything we’ve invested in this effort.”
Lugok sighed. “I know, my friend, but you must consider the possibility that all of this may well have given up on you.”
32
Cup of coffee in hand, Reyes moved from the food slot along the interview room’s rear wall and returned to his seat at the small, rectangular table. The table and its quartet of chairs were the room’s only furnishings, constructed from the same sort of dull, depressing slate gray duranium composite materials often used in Starfleet facilities where comfort was not a primary concern. Similar furniture adorned the guest quarters to which Reyes had been assigned, so he did not mind the decor. It was a step up from his previous billeting, at any rate.
“Lieutenant Commander Moyer,” Reyes said as he took his seat. “Congratulations on your promotion. It’s well deserved.”
Moyer nodded, though her demeanor remained professional as she used the stylus in her right hand to write something on the face of the data slate she had brought with her. “Thank you, sir. The rank is permanent, but the position is temporary. Starfleet is sending someone out to formally replace Captain Desai. I don’t know who it is yet, but they should be here by the end of the month.”
“Plenty of time for Starfleet to reconsider leaving you where you are,” Reyes said before taking a sip of his coffee. “But I suspect we’re not here to talk about you, are we?”
Clearing her throat, Moyer replied, “No, sir, I’m afraid not. I’ve been ordered to debrief you in full about your time in Klingon and Orion custody. Admiral Nogura has asked me to emphasize that this is not an interrogation. You are not being charged with anything, at least not yet. Any interviews that might go toward determining that will be held at a later time. For now, the purpose of this session and any that might follow is strictly for the gathering of information with respect to its relevance to Operation Vanguard.”
Reyes regarded her with a quizzical expression. “I take it you’ve been read into the project?”
“Yes, sir,” Moyer replied, her attention shifting between Reyes and her data slate. “Admiral Nogura briefed me himself.” She paused, and Reyes noted the uncertainty she was trying to hide.
“I can imagine it was a lot to absorb and accept, even if you didn’t agree with it all,” Reyes said. “How’d that make you feel?”
Looking up from her data slate, Moyer said, “With all due respect, Mister Reyes, my feelings on the subject are irrelevant.”
“They’re relevant if they’re affecting your judgment and how you plan to carry out these debriefing sessions,” Reyes countered, and punctuated his statement with another sip of his coffee.
The commander’s jaw tightened just the slightest bit, but Reyes saw it anyway. “If you’re worried you won’t be fairly represented,” she said, “you can be assured that everything we say here is being recorded, and will be reviewed by Admiral Nogura as well as the Starfleet JAG. My job here is strictly obtaining answers to questions prepared by the admiral as well as Lieutenant T’Prynn, Doctor Marcus, and Lieutenant Xiong.”
Reyes nodded in understanding. “All right, then.”
“Now, you indicated to Admiral Nogura that you believed, at least during the time you were in their custody and based on your interactions with the Klingon ship commander, Kutal, that the Empire does not seem to possess our level of knowledge concerning the Shedai?”
“From what I could gather, no,” Reyes replied. “They obviously know what the Shedai are, and were, and they’ve had their own run-ins with them as well as their technology. That said, everything I saw and heard points to them not having any real insight into the meta-genome and its potential. Oh, there may be, or have been, a few of their scientists who started putting the pieces together, but from what I know, most if not all of those people are dead now.”
Moyer, jotting notes on her data slate, said, “Lieutenant Xiong reported something similar during his time in captivity on Mirdonyae V.” She frowned. “Frankly, that surprises me. We know that the Klingons do employ scientists and engineers—if not their own, then others from species they’ve conquered. They’re certainly not stupid.”
“No, they’re not,” Reyes acknowledged, “but the priorities and focus of those in charge tend to lean more toward the military applications of any plundered technology or equipment. Waiting around for a scientist to figure out that a blob of mold pulled from a rock formation on some uninhabited planet actually contains the building blocks for an entire civilization, weapons included, isn’t something they’re liable to do. They want something that can be employed now, if not sooner.”
“So, you’re saying it’s willful ignorance on the Klingons’ part that they haven’t pursued learning more about the meta-genome?”
Finishing his coffee, Reyes rose from his chair and made his way toward the food slot. “Not at all, Commander. They’re simply looking for the upper hand. Given enough time and the diversion of sufficient resources to the effort, they’re more than capable of figuring out on their own what the meta-genome represents, and what they can do with it if they can ever learn how to work with it. I don’t see that happening any time soon, though. After all, we’ve been screwing with it for more than five years since we first discovered the damned thing, and look where we are.”
“Where are we, exactly?” Moyer asked.
Reyes slid a card into the reader beneath the food slot’s door and pressed a couple of the buttons in the proper sequence. “Assuming Admiral Nogura hasn’t been lying to me, and based on the progress that had been made before I was—as they say—removed from my former position, I know that Xiong and his crew in the Vault have had limited success interfacing with Shedai technology, thanks mostly to the assistance of a Tholian expatriate named Nezrene. The artifact Xiong brought back with him from Mirdonyae V and the one Ganz handed over apparently represent the technology of another race, the Tkon, which might be able to stand toe-to-toe with the Shedai.” Retrieving the fresh cup of coffee from the food slot, he turned and offered Moyer a smile. “How am I doing so far?”
“Not bad, actually,” the commander replied. “Speaking of the Mirdonyae Artifacts, how much about the Shedai do you think Ganz and his people knew, so far as their properties or origin are concerned?”
Shaking his head as he returned to his seat, Reyes said, “Not much, I think. They saw the things as being of some intrinsic value to anyone willing to pay a good price. I’m certain they don’t know anything about the Tkon, at least not beyond tall tales or space legends or whatever you want to call stories you tell at the bar.” Thanks to Nogura—who likely h
ad violated a handful of regulations and security protocols in order to update him on what had been happening while he was away—Reyes knew about the mission undertaken by Cervantes Quinn and Bridget McLellan to retrieve the artifact stolen from the station by one of Ganz’s men on behalf of a Klingon client. He knew also of their journey to the unnamed planet that had emitted traces of the mysterious carrier wave signal Ming Xiong had dubbed the Jinoteur Pattern, and where Quinn and McLellan had come face-to-face with the Shedai entity that had made the entire Jinoteur system simply disappear as though it had never existed. Reyes had given up trying to imagine a race like the Tkon possessing technology that might be on a par with such an astounding display of power. The very idea made his head hurt.
“And what about the Klingons?” Moyer asked. “How much do you suppose they know about the artifacts?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Reyes answered. “They seemed to know that they could interface with Shedai technology, at least to some degree. I’m guessing that had to do with what they learned while Xiong was being held by Klingons on Mirdonyae V, and that’s what motivated the covert mission to steal the artifact from the station.”
Moyer nodded, saying nothing for a moment while she jotted ted more notes on her data slate. “The artifact you helped them to steal?”
Sipping his coffee, Reyes noted the look of accusation in the JAG officer’s eyes, and smiled in approval. “Nicely played, Commander. I’ve already admitted to providing information that allowed the thief to bypass the station’s security measures and get into the Vault. I told all of this to T’Prynn, but I don’t mind repeating it: They were going after that thing, with or without my help. All I did was try and see to it that they didn’t kill anybody along the way.”
“You briefed them on our security codes, protocols, and procedures,” Moyer said.
Reyes tapped a finger on the table. “And you changed all of that ten seconds after the heist was over, right?”
